


Patch (Bodies of the Condemned)

by fraisemilk



Category: Gintama
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gekijouban Gintama Kanketsu-hen: Yorozuya yo Eien Nare | Be Forever Yorozuya, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, M/M, Other, leftist wanderings, leftist wonderings, the great mystery that is Katsura's bandage, told from the perspective of a tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraisemilk/pseuds/fraisemilk
Summary: The tree looks at you. It stretches its branches like wings of bones toward the sky and the wide empty road. By blinding himself, was Katsura Koutaro’s wish to forget, or to always remember? Had he done it to end something, or to begin it? Was this action in any way revolutionary?(A member of the Jouishishi ponders about the meaning of leftist politics now that the world is in ruin.)





	Patch (Bodies of the Condemned)

Oh tree, what form do your dreams take? Are they colorful and silent, black or white or loud? Do they reek of past battlefields (bodies soaking up with rain, roots sucking in blood), or burning forests (so silent are your deaths !) ?

Many nights I have lain awake wondering about gaps and voids, silence and death, the absence of birds, the effects the chill of winter and Katsura Koutaro’s new bandage had on my heart. Many dreams, too, have I spent pondering about myself. Yes, all of this started in the dead of winter, when snow billowed out of people’s lungs, when the cold turned bitter.

Oh, tree. Spring has come, and this problem now seems so distant; a vague memory now that your eyes have opened, that the first green leaves have appeared. Now I can only wonder about __your__  dreams, those that played behind your trunk, among your branches, beneath your roots, spreading like sunlight towards the earth.

 

__

_The tree dreams._

* * *

 

 

 

It’s 4am when you come back, and the only sound that echoes in the city’s empty street is the sound of your own steps. There used to be birds, here, that would sing at this late early hour, but you do not hear them. The stars, too, are obscured by a heavy shroud of clouds. Your left shoulder aches where it was hurt so many years ago, a sign that it’s going to rain soon.

 

You are coming home after a meeting with what is left of the wretched Joui resistance group. Your heart aches when you think about how it used to be, how loud these conversations used to get. Today’s meeting was even quieter than last month’s, and though what was said there was full of political hope, the only taste left in your mouth is that of ash and bones.

_The police’s strength is waning, and the surveillance system has nothing but vanished. Now the time for action has finally come; it’s time for a new society to begin. Our society is one that is not born out of unfair laws and even more unfair punishments, but out of a sense of community, of wanting to help each other, of making existence freer, easier for everyone._

As usual, Katsura Koutaro’s speech had been full of energy and inspiration. Yet you think about his words and they come back blurred in your memory -- did he say __punishments__ or __abuse__? __Community__  or __togetherness__? Instead your thoughts turn to the names of today’s three missing members, the unsaid acknowledgement that they were dying in their beds and would not be back, and to the red marks on the map spread on the table, marking empty buildings.

They turn to the irony of the situation, the enthusiasm of Katsura Koutaro’s speech clashing against the look on Katsura Koutaro’s face, the new bandage hiding one of his eyes, the bruise under the other.

You realize you have stopped walking, legs refusing to move as you find yourself in a familiar, yet unfamiliar part of the city. You recognize a tree in the park next to what used to be your home a couple years ago, a small apartment that you’d left after the police had learned about your whereabouts from an unknown source. That was another era, worlds apart from this one, it feels, and the sight of this tree startles you more than it should. Now it is the only familiar thing that is left, and you tremble with the thought that the entire city you once knew has gone.

The tree looks at you. It stretches its branches like wings of bones toward the sky and the wide empty road. By blinding himself, was Katsura Koutaro’s wish to forget, or to always remember? Had he done it to end something, or to begin it? Was this action in any way revolutionary?

The tree looks at you. It is the only thing that can remind you of what the street used to be, now. Its form, its presence signals things that once were precious. Children playing in its shade; the warmth of a summer day; Otgonbayar, Iseul and Ayumu’s banters as they argued about their favorite noodles.

You start walking again.

There is a sour taste in your mouth that refuses to leave, a weight in your chest gripping your lungs like cold fingers, three burning rocks in your thoughts that feel icy to the touch. Three names have been pronounced; and now they are already disappearing under the city’s weight. Iseul was the one to introduce you to Ayumu and to Rosa Luxembourg. Ayumu once taught you the importance of always being paranoid by stealing all the food in your tiny fridge, and Otgonbayar... well, Otgonbayar had always been there with you, it seems, though you first met him after the war.

You will never see them again.

Painful thoughts are simultaneously less and more painful at 4am than at any other hour, you think. So you indulge a little bit in the memories, while you still can, while your heart cracks without breaking, while your body does not feel the need to cry (not now, at least). Now you can walk and pretend you are alone. Soon you’ll be home and it will be different, you’ll have to put a bandage around your eyes and your thoughts, you’ll have to go back to Revolution because that is the only thing left to do, _just a bit more, just a few steps and we’ll be there, and the dead will rise and live happily ever after.  
_

You will never see them again.

Oh, you seek peace in this thought. You only find lamentation. Finally the first tears roll down your cheeks, and you breathe, and your mouth tastes like salt and Otgonbayar’s tea, and your lung fill with the ghostly scents of Iseul’s perfume, and your heart throbs with the hope that Ayumu finished her last painting. The violent wave of grief takes you by surprise, as always, how can the mind make itself believe again and again that it will never happen again, that it will never be the same?

Finally you reach your small apartment at the edge of the city, and you are surprised to find Ekber waiting there, wearing a coat bigger than himself despite the warm temperature. He was absent from the meeting today because he had to take care of a bedridden old woman he only recently met but nonetheless calls _mother_.

You guess from his very presence the reason of his visit, and from his expression that he’s noticed the state you’re in. Wordlessly, you open the door and let him in. You notice him notice the piles of worn books in the small living room, and say: "Nothing much to do except read, right now." The sound of your voice startles both of you -- everything is so __silent__ , now --, and a spell breaks. "I’ll make tea," you say, and he nods vigorously.

He picks a book while you fill the kettle with __Asahi Natural Mineral Water__  water and start the gas. You do not turn to look at the title, and try to guess the title. Mishima’s _Confessions of a Mask_?

"What did you pick?

" _Surveiller et Punir_ , bilingual edition."

_Uh _._ _

"That’s funny, Katsura’s speech was full of references to this book. I wonder if he’s re-read it recently."

" _Funny_ ," Ekber repeats. "You read this recently, didn’t you? Maybe __you’re__  the only one who heard those references in his speech. That said, it wouldn’t surprise me. By the way, how was the meeting?"

You’ve always been unable to hide your true thoughts when talking with Ekber, so you tell him the truth:

"Quiet. Why don’t you remove your coat? I’ll start the Kotetsu."

"You still have electricity here?"

Just as you have not mentioned the reason of his presence here yet, he lets you change the course of the conversation.

"I have a generator. But," you gesture towards the empty bottle of __Asahi Natural Mineral Water__ , "We can’t drink the tape water."

He hums, looking intently at a page of __Surveiller et Punir__ , but clearly not reading it, and still not removing his coat. You decide to wait for him to talk. It’s always been like this with Ekber: wait, and wait, and words will come.

Finally, Ekber’s words come after the tea is served, when you’re starting to wonder if you’ll have to wait for the sun to rise to listen to them.

"She died, today. Mother," he precises uselessly.

You think of eyes going vacant, of skin turning ashen, of hands that glisten like candles. You think of the gap between noticing the signs and understanding the soul is not there.

"I’m sorry to hear that, Ekber."

He accepts your answer with a sad, grateful little smile and a bow of his head. You watch the careful way he puts the book back on its pile, and notice the crow’s feet around his eyes, the gray earring on his right ear, the trembling of his hands. Then, he starts talking again:

"She was lucky, I guess. She wasn’t alone, and she just died of old age. She looked very peaceful. Not in pain, you know... and after it happened, I didn’t really feel like crying, because her death wasn’t unfair. And I wonder... will anyone have this chance anymore? Or will everyone die the same way, now? And who will cry for the last of us? I didn’t want to be the last. I don’t want you to be the last."

Ekber has always been like that: innocent, in a way you haven’t felt since you were a child yourself, and terribly honest, sometimes painfully so. You touch his shoulder then, and he responds by touching your arm in return. Then, he says, chuckling:

"Guess I should remove my coat, uh?"

He does so, revealing a white t-shirt that has seen too many years. You don’t have much, but you know Ekber has less, and you think maybe that’s why he’d kept the coat, to hide his old worn t-shirt.

"Thank you for thinking about me, I... hope you won’t be the last, either."

"I won’t," he says. "I guess you can’t see that well in the darkness."

Langidly, he brushes his hair back, and you notice a few white strands. Before you have time to say anything, he moves closer to you, smiles, amiable and gentle, and kisses you.

 

 

 

* * *

 

You dream.

 

His hands are warm on your neck and your shoulder, his tongue also as it slides against yours. Despite this you shiver: the kiss is not warm enough to stop a thought, the thought that the man you’re kissing will soon be gone, that three of your loves have gone already. Ekber kisses you and you kiss back, and all the while it is a lonely kiss, one that reminds you that one day you’ll be so alone you’ll become unfamiliar, a sign that no one will be able to see or love back, a memory of what has been, like the tree in the park. You’ll watch as other lonely figures pass you by, stretching your hands toward them to try and touch them, and maybe they’ll cry when they see you, maybe they’ll cry and tremble and remember kisses and loved ones that left long ago. You think about all this and shiver as Ekber softly caresses your spine, shiver as he takes your left hand and says, stopping the kiss to catch his breath, «I think I know why Katsura hid his eye after all. Are you cold?» Yes, you are cold, for months you have been cold, winter has settled in your bones, so you say :  "I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun rise," and you ask: "Why did Katsura lose an eye? Why did he have to hide it?"

"Don’t you think it’s hard, praying for the world to go up in flames, but seeing it die out like a candle instead? He’s dreamed for so many years, hoped for even longer."

"Why would the world be a candle? Or a flame? It can’t be that he wanted it do be destroyed."

"Perhaps not. I’m sure a part of him thought of it, though. Haven’t you?"

The tree watches you. It reminds you, somehow, of __the__  day you had pictured in your mind, long ago, the changes you had hoped so strongly for, and connecting to this Otgonbayar, Iseul and Ayumu’s dreams, all so personal, yet also universal. What is your dream alone now? It feels empty, a vacant room, a deserted shell. Perhaps you have Ekber’s too, and a couple more, the few dreams that are left, but nothing compared to those that have gone.

"I guess I never felt lonely enough for that kind of wish," you finally answer.

Ekber smiles at you then, settling down a little farther away from you. He is close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating from him, close enough for you to glimpse some white in his hair.

"I don’t think you ever will. Even completely alone..." he murmures.

 

 

 

 

_The tree answers.  
_

* * *

 

__

Like any other tree, my dreams are not my own.

In winter (dead quiet), I feel on my branches the cold sweat that slides on dreamers’ spines and

Tears (dead quiet) that go into my empty veins.

Yes, in winter, you dream for me. This one has felt especially long (dead quiet); but already I feel the rumor of spring. Its birds, and its chirps, and its bees. Already the days have turned longer, and the sun

Is hailing forth my leaves and my flowers.

 

Oh, your spring will come too. Do not think of the next winter: think of your friends (here and not here), of you home (here, and there), and of a hopeful future (now, and then). Do not hinder your sight.

In the meantime, I will await your dreams and your passage, for I do not want to be the last. _Will you be back?_

_Will you be back?_

_Will you be back?_

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to apologize for not really writing about Gintama, this time. This story about Katsura’s eye was just an excuse, it seems, to talk about my own life, and perhaps a few things that have gained importance in our societies recently. I started this story in January, in the depth of winter, and I finished it in April, almost May. I am turning a new page of my life now, and leaving (again, again, again) the few friends I’ve met here behind, forever.  
> Coincidentally, tomorrow is May Day (labor day in France). Take this opportunity to learn about workers' history, unions, class struggle. The Left is a beautiful mess, as is Original Character’s love life.  
> Comments on my fics are what have helped me go on with writing and publishing my stories here. If you’ve enjoyed this, or enjoyed some other story of mine, please try to spare some time to leave a few words, or come chat with me on tumblr: da-da-daaa.tumblr.com
> 
> Merci!
> 
> Lise


End file.
